Twelfth of Never
by jes004
Summary: Pivotal events happen at Sydney's high school piano solo. AU Complete - Sequel to come
1. Phone Calls

"Come get the phone, Sydney!" Mrs. Landson called out with exasperation.  "You're father doesn't have much time."

"Since when does he ever," Sydney muttered under her breath.

"You're father works hard, young lady.  You live in a beautiful home and have a more than generous allowance. There are a lot of girls who would gladly trade places. You should be ashamed of yourself."  Her current nanny handed her the phone, lips pursed in disapproval.

Sydney glared at her as she took the phone.  "Hello, Dad."

"Sydney, I'm leaving for Japan this afternoon.  I won't be home until late Wednesday.  If you need to reach me, call my secretary and she can track me down."

"Sure, Dad.  I'll call Mr. Watkins and tell him you won't be needing that ticket for the concert on Friday."

"Sydney, I told you I would be there."  Her father sounded annoyed.  Sydney gave a sardonic smile. "Wednesday is two full days before Friday.  If this high school hasn't taught you that much, then perhaps we should revisit your attending that private school we discussed last year."

"I know how many days there are between Wednesday and Friday. Based on previous experience, I'll assume you won't make it." Her voice unconsciously mimicked her father's dry, flat tone.

"You did request a seat on the end?"

"Yes, Dad.  I even arranged for them to hold your ticket at the door.  You can pick it up when you get there."

"Good.  Have you been practicing?"

"If you spent any time at home, you'd know the answer to that."

Jack sighed heavily into the phone.  "You know my work entails a lot of travel, Sydney.  I have to go.  I'll see you on Wednesday."

"Yeah, sure. Bye, Daddy."

* * *

"Mrs. Landson, has my dad called?"

"No, I still haven't heard from him."

"Has his secretary called?"

"There have been no phone calls, Sydney.  I'm sure you're father has merely been delayed and will call soon."

"The concert is tomorrow.  He promised he'd be home this time. I'm calling his secretary."

"You shouldn't bother her. If she had any information from your father, she would have called."

"Dad told me to call her." Sydney gave the nanny a truculent glare and picked up the phone and dialed. "Hello?  Yes, I need to speak with Mr. Bristow's secretary." The phone rang through to an extension.

"Hi, I'm Sydney Bristow.  My dad told me to call you if I needed to reach him."

"Oh yes. Sydney!  I must apologize for not calling you and letting you know your father has been unavoidably detained."

"Could you have him call me, please?" 

"That won't be possible.  His business meeting is in a very remote location.  They were hit by a bad storm last night and we haven't been able to contact them yet." The secretary paused, then quickly added, "the local authorities had radio contact, but the radio apparently stopped working.  The last report said everyone was fine."

"Okay. Thank you."  Replacing the phone in its cradle, Sydney gnawed worriedly at her lower lip.  

"I'm going to have a conversation with your father when he gets home, young lady. You're behavior is not acceptable and I will not put up with your attitude much longer."

"So what else is new?"  Sydney stomped over to the stairs before calling back to the nanny.  "You'll have to wait a few more days before you tell him.  He's been unavoidably detained again."


	2. The Concert

Irina watched her daughter peek her head around the curtain, eyes vainly searching the audience for her father.  Jack was, of course, nowhere to be found.  Irina drummed her fingers impatiently against her knee, resisting the urge to call her associate for an update on Jack's location.  

Sergei had chided her earlier on the frequency of her calls.  

_"Irochka, he is safe and on his way home. We will get him there in plenty of time."_

_"You almost didn't, Sergei."_

_"Your husband was not too certain that we were his benevolent rescuers. I don't blame him for being suspicious. Every good spy understands the concept of good cop/bad cop."  _

_"So he didn't trust you. Does he know who set him up?"_

_"I didn't have a chance to find out.  When we pulled him from that cell, he was so weak he could barely stand.  We practically carried him out of that prison. I thought it would be better to grill him when he was a bit stronger. Carlos was watching him, but he misjudged the man. Your husband waited for his opportunity and was gone a good thirty minutes before anyone realized it."_

_"Do I detect a note of admiration in your voice, Seriozha?"_

_"I admit he is not what I thought.  I put my best men out to track him.  If not for our knowledge that he was anxious to return home, we would not have located him." _

_"He graduated first in his class," Irina told him proudly._

_"He is not the fool I thought him.You must have been exceptionally good to have tricked him for so long."_

_"He loved me.  If he had not…" Irina closed her eyes, squeezing back the tears.  "Have you discovered who was behind his kidnapping?"_

_"Yes. We have the men who took him. Arvin Sloane hired them. That's why they captured Bristow so easily.  They picked him up right from the airport. As it was, they almost didn't get him. Bristow must have sensed something was wrong, because he altered the plan. They ended up shooting him with a tranquilizer." _

_"Did they…hurt him?"_

_"He may have some cracked ribs and his arm wasn't looking good."_

_"All right.  Let me know as soon as he lands in L.A."_

_"Ira…."_

_"There's something else?"_

_"You are right about how much he loved you."_

_Irina's heart leapt in her throat.  "What…" she took a deep breath to steady her shaking hand.  "Why do you say that?"_

_"He had a picture of you and Sydney hidden in his luggage."_

_"He had a picture of me?"_

_"You are holding your daughter in your lap and …"_

_"…Sydney is wearing a pink shirt that says 'Daddy's little girl'," she finished for him.  "That's his lucky picture. Do you have the photograph?"_

_"Yes, why?  Are you planning on giving it back to him?"_

_"It is his," she reminded him._

_"Irina, you are not planning on doing anything foolish?  This photograph is of Laura, not you."_

_"I am Laura."_

_"You were Laura. Laura is dead. She is dead to both of you."_

_"Sergei, you are very annoying…"_

_"But you know I am right."_

_"Yes, of course.  Don't worry.  I won't do anything foolish."_

Irina rested against the back wall of the auditorium, glad that Sergei was half a world away.  She felt pretty certain that attending Sydney's Christmas concert fell in the category of foolish things.  Her disguise was good and would fool anyone doing a cursory surveillance. The blonde wig and heavy makeup would only momentarily hide her from Jack's sharp eyes, but she should be fairly safe if she stayed behind the large Sony video camera she'd brought to tape her daughter's piano solo.

She scanned the audience again, her eyes searching out Jack's familiar form.  A side door opened and she breathed a sigh of relief.  With only moments to spare, Jack carefully made his way down the aisle to the section reserved for parents, a large bag tucked under his arm.  

Irina frowned in concern, as she noticed the slowness in his step and the stiff way he held his body.  He barely made it to his seat before the lights went down.  She was glad to see he was given an aisle seat; his longer legs needed the room to stretch.  Irina settled into her own chair directly behind him, eyes trained on his back as the freshman band took its place on the platform.  This was the closest she'd been to him in ten years and she planned on taking full advantage of his proximity.  

As the band played holiday tunes, Irina studied her husband.  He had filled out a bit over the past ten years, but in a good way.  There was a tension in the set of his shoulders that had not been there before.  His hair was shorter than she liked, cropping off most of the curls, but it suited him.  There was a recent razor nick under his jaw, evidence that he had shaved hurriedly before heading to the auditorium.  He stirred uncomfortably in the chair, a grimace of pain contorting his features.  Irina ached to comfort him, but knew the folly in that move.  

The first band filed off the stage, while a brass quartet played an unusual rendition of Handel's Messiah. Irina leaned back against the seat, enjoying the robustness of the "Hallelujah Chorus".  Handel was her favorite composer. She smiled softly, remembering the passionate arguments she and Jack enjoyed when discussing classical music.  The quartet handled the music remarkably well, considering they were teenagers, bringing the audience to their feet when they finished. 

The video camera sat heavily on Irina's lap, in preparation for Sydney's solo which would follow a madrigal number by the choir. According to her program, they were the next group to perform.  As the final notes of the madrigal faded away, Sydney stepped out onto the stage awaiting her introduction. Irina's camera followed her daughter as she crossed the stage to take her place at the piano, catching the moment Sydney realized her father was seated in the audience.  

Irina watched with pride as her daughter started to play.  The complexity of the piece was evident even to a non-musician.  'Mozart', she realized immediately. The music was familiar, her memory finally placing it as she heard the recurring melody of "Alleluia". "Exsultate, Jubilate" had always been one of Jack's favorites.  The musical arrangement was interesting, with a number of complicated variations on the theme.  She would have to find out where Sydney obtained the piano version of the orchestral motet.

As the solo drew to a close, the audience rose quickly to their feet, intuitively understanding they had been given a rare treat in a high school auditorium.  Sydney's eyes sought out her father's and she smiled happily at his approving nod.  

Relaxing back into her seat, Irina ignored the remainder of the evening program.  Instead, she mentally replayed each moment of Sydney's solo. Her daughter had come a long way from her first lessons as a six year old.  Irina smiled at a memory of Sydney's first recital and the endless practicing of  "Baa Baa Black Sheep" and "Three Blind Mice".  When she finished playing, she'd done much the same as this time, her young eyes seeking her father's approval.  Jack had given Sydney a dozen roses that afternoon and she had been thrilled, showing them off to everyone in the room.

As the holiday concert concluded, the lights in the auditorium fell dark. Irina rose to leave, but found the aisle next to her blocked by a woman in a wheel chair. She watched in nervous fascination as the woman tapped Jack on the shoulder.

"Hello, Jack. Sydney did well tonight. I think I was more nervous than she was. You must be feeling quite proud of her." 

"She was wonderful, Sarah." he agreed.  "I can't believe how far you've brought her since you took over her piano lessons three years ago."

"Mrs. Adams gave her an excellent grounding. I merely expanded on that."

Jack nodded at the woman's leg. Irina's eyes followed his, noting the large white cast covering the foot and extending to the mid-calf.  "What happened to your foot?"

"Sydney didn't tell you?  It was the stupidest thing. I was learning how to skateboard and I slipped.  I'm just glad I didn't break my wrist or my piano career would over for a while."

"I'm sure a teacher with your talent would do well despite a broken wrist." Jack pointed to the program.  "I didn't realize "Exsultate, Jubilate" was available as a piano solo. Where did you find it?"

"I didn't.  Sydney and I did an orchestral reduction."

"That must have been very … involved.  Surely you could have found something suitable without going to so much trouble?"

"Sydney insisted on this piece and she was quite willing to put in the work to do it.  I wish all my students were as enthusiastic."

"Hey, Dad." Sydney hugged her piano teacher.  "I did it, Miss Jones.  I was so nervous, but I remembered what you said.  I closed my eyes and pretended I was at your house for a dress rehearsal."

"You should be very proud, Sydney.  I don't think I could have played that any finer."

"Thank you, for helping me with … everything. "  

"You're very welcome, Sydney.  It is always a pleasure to work with you." The woman unlocked the brakes on the chair. "Well, I have to go.  There is a cab with my name on it waiting for me outside.  I'll see you next Wednesday, Sydney."

"Bye, Miss Jones." Sydney turned excitedly to her father.  "I'm glad you made it back in time, Dad."

"I told you I would be here, Sydney," Jack told her brusquely. He reached for the bag he'd brought in earlier and took out a bouquet of roses and handed them to his daughter.  Peace roses, Irina noted.  "Congratulations, sweetheart.  You played beautifully." Jack patted his daughter's shoulder awkwardly.  "I know if your mother were still alive, she would have been very proud."

"Thanks. I felt like she was there, telling me to be calm."  Sydney brushed back a tear. "My band teacher, Mr. Watkins said he wanted to meet with you after the concert.  I'll take you to him."

Jack flinched when he stood.  

"Are you okay, Dad?"

"It's nothing, Sydney.  I went skiing with my client this morning and pulled a muscle."

"You went skiing this morning?  Your secretary said you were trapped …" Sydney stopped and took a deep breath. "She lied for you!  The least you could have done was told me you would be late getting here."  She threw the flowers back at him.  "To think I was _worried_ about you.  I hate you!"

Irina sat back against her chair, too stunned to move as she watched her daughter stomp off. Why had Jack not made up a better lie about his injuries?  He was the best game theorist she knew. It was the kind of mistake a new recruit would make, not a seasoned veteran like her husband. He had to know he would have received a more sympathetic reaction had he said he had been injured in a car accident.

"I wouldn't take it personally, Mr. Bristow." Irina turned to look at the slim blonde addressing Jack.  Her eyes narrowed as she took in the provocatively dressed woman standing next to her in the aisle.  "Teenagers are so volatile at this stage in their lives." She held out a well-manicured hand. "I'm Alyssia Meadows, Sydney's advisor."

Irina snorted.  Advisor? She was acting more like a feral cat in heat. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the woman hold Jack's hand much longer than was necessary.

"Oh yes, Miss Meadows.  You've requested a meeting.  I apologize for not scheduling it yet."

"That's quite all right," she responded, bending down to pick up Sydney's discarded flowers. The maneuver gave anyone within range, and Jack in particular, a clear view of the woman's bosom, and the lack of a bra. "Your daughter has mentioned that you are often called away on business."  The woman gave a trilling laugh, reminding Irina of nails scraping a chalkboard. "Sydney did a marvelous job on the Mozart piece.  He's always been one of my favorite composers."  

"I bet," Irina muttered under her breath. "She probably doesn't know a motet from a motif."

"He was a true genius. The Los Angeles Philharmonic has an all Mozart festival scheduled next Friday…" 

Irina gasped.  Jack was going to ask the hussy out.  She looked around quickly for something to distract him.

"Dad!  We have to leave."  Sydney.  God bless her.  "Oh, hi Miss Meadows.  My father just got back from a business trip and I need to discuss some things with him."

"That's fine, Sydney.  I look forward to meeting with you, Mr. Bristow."

"I'll call you on Monday."  

"Miss Meadows?"  Sydney brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.  "I believe those are my flowers?"

"What?  Oh, yes.  Here you are.  I found them on the floor."

"I must have dropped them by accident."

The advisor's eyes narrowed.  "Yes, of course you did. I look forward to your call, Mr. Bristow.  Good night."

"Sydney." Jack's voice was disapproving.  "You owe Miss Meadows an apology.  That was very rude."

Sydney pursed her lips angrily.  "You were about to ask her out, weren't you?"

"The thought crossed my mind.  She's a lovely woman and she likes Mozart."

"That's funny, she didn't seem all that familiar with him last week when she asked me about my solo. Besides, you can't go out with her; it's against school rules."

"School rules?" Jack asked, amused.

"It's considered a conflict of interest.  Parents cannot date members of the school staff."

"Miss Meadows doesn't seem to be aware of the rule."

"She's new. I'm sure the Principal will let her know."

"Well, I guess I'll have to ask Miss Jones to the concert. She prefers Debussy, but I know she appreciates Mozart."

"Daaaaad.  In case you didn't notice, she broke her leg.  You'll just have to take me."

"You would go with me to a Mozart festival?"

"Mr. Watkins will give me extra credit."

"Mr. Watkins is your band teacher?  You said he wanted to speak to me."

"Yeah.  He's waiting for you in the band room."

"You better take me to him, then."  Jack stood and another wave of pain engulfed him.  He sat down heavily into the chair.  "Sydney, maybe we could make it another time?"

"Dad?"  Sydney shook him on the shoulder.  "Dad?  Oh my god. Dad?" She looked around, frightened.  "Excuse me, ma'am.  Could you call 911 for me?  Something is wrong…"

Irina nodded, mutely.  Slipping away from her daughter, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number for emergencies.  She quickly gave the address to the operator and was about to hang up when the operator told her she needed more details.

"He's 41 years old.  March 18, 1950.  Six foot two.  I believe he said he was injured in an accident earlier today. Yes, he's still breathing. Allergies? Yes, he's allergic to morphine products.  Please hurry."

"Daddy, please tell me what's wrong," Sydney whispered, her voice shaking with fear.

Irina looked at Jack, torn between the need to make sure he was okay and the need to direct the paramedics in as quickly as possible.  Running her hand through her hair, she made the decision to wait for the paramedics.  Jack needed to be hospitalized quickly.  It wouldn't do for the paramedics to have to waste time searching for him.

* * *

"Miss Bristow?"  One of the paramedics drew Sydney aside.  "Your father needs to go to the hospital.  He has a couple broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a possible fracture to his right wrist.  There may be other injuries."  The paramedic glanced down at his notepad. "These wounds are pretty serious and it doesn't look as though he's received any treatment yet.  Do you know how he got them?"

"He told me he pulled a muscle this morning when he was skiing," she looked up from her father's still form, her face a mix of confusing emotions.  "His secretary said there was a bad storm but no one was hurt."  

"Do you have someone who can bring you to the hospital, Miss Bristow?"

"I can't ride with him in the ambulance?"

"Yes, but it might be better if you have another adult with you."

"I don't have anybody.  It's just my dad and me."

"Very well.  The ambulance will be here in just a few minutes."

"Sir? Is he … will he be…"  Sydney stumbled over the words.

"He's in a great deal of pain. The doctor will know the full extent of his injuries after we get him to the hospital.  But you want to know if he's going to die, right?"

Sydney nodded mutely.  

"As far as I can tell, he doesn't have any life-threatening injuries, but we won't know for sure until the x-rays are taken. The broken ribs could hamper his breathing. If the injuries happened earlier today, then it's likely that it's nothing more serious than a few broken bones."

Sydney bit her lip and followed the paramedic back to her father.  "Why did he pass out?"

"He's in a great deal of pain.  I'm amazed he has gone this long untreated."

Sydney grabbed her father's hand and gave it squeeze.  "Why didn't you tell me, Daddy?"  Jack moaned softly.  

"Okay, Miss Bristow.  The ambulance is here.  Are you ready to go?"

Sydney nodded; watching as a new set of paramedics began working on her father.   They moved him to a backboard, quickly lifting him to the gurney.  She followed them to the ambulance and climbed in after they locked her father in place. The paramedics strapped her into a bi-fold chair at the front of the vehicle, out of their way, but still within reach of her father.  She placed a shaky hand on his shoulder. 

"We've given him some medication to ease the pain, miss.  Nothing with morphine, since he's allergic. Once the doctor examines him, you should consider going home and getting some rest. The doctor will put him on something a bit stronger and he will probably sleep most of the night.  A Mrs. Calfo and her daughter are following us to the hospital.  She said you can stay with her and she will bring you back again in the morning."

"I should stay with him…"

"Take my advice, miss.  He'll be asleep and you'll want to be rested when he does wake up."

Jack stirred, his face contorting with pain.  He covered the hand on his shoulder and whispered a name.  

"No, Daddy.  It's me, Sydney."

"Sydney. Where are we?"

"You are on the way to the hospital."

"Hospital? I don't need to go…" He groaned, another spasm of pain wracking his body.  "Tell them I'm allergic to morphine. Ask your mother, she knows."

"How do we contact your mother, miss?" 

"You can't. My mother is dead."

"I heard her voice."

"Dad…"

"He's probably hallucinating. Some medications have that effect."

"Sydney? Tell the doctor I'm allergic to cod liver oil, too."

"Dad!  You are not."

"Just tell him. If I know your grandmother, she's stocking up right now."

Sydney looked up at the paramedic.  "I guess you are right about the hallucinating. My grandmother died four years ago."  She laughed.  "If she were alive, he'd be right about the cod liver oil.  It was her miracle cure."  

The paramedic smiled back. "My grandmother was the same way.  Look, he's asleep for now.  We should be pulling in to the emergency room any minute.  Don't worry too much.  I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Thanks.  I guess now isn't a good time to tell him my nanny quit?"


	3. Hospital Visit

This section contains the only R rated portion of this fic and it is a short part almost at the end of the chapter. 

….. ~*~ …..

Irina jumped when Jack stirred.  He'd been still for so long, she'd almost dozed off.

"Laura?"

"I'm here, sweetheart."

"I knew I heard your voice."

"You always said you would find me anywhere."  Irina leaned in to kiss him, her hand in his.

"I don't feel very good, honey."

"I'm not surprised.  The doctor thinks you were run over by a truck. Your good friend Arvin Sloane set you up. Do you have any idea why?"

"No."

"I'm sure you will figure it out, Jack."  She brushed a hand through his hair. "You've broken a few bones and you have a nice collection of bruises, but the doctor says you will live."

"That's encouraging. Where is Sydney?"

"She went home with her friend."

Jack nodded, then grimaced. "The Calfo's. That means the nanny quit."

"Why do you think that?"

Jack smiled wryly.  "Mrs. Calfo would never take Sydney to her home without my permission unless there were extreme circumstances.  There would be no reason for Sydney to go there if the nanny was at home."

"She could just be gone for the evening."

"The nanny didn't know I was back.  She wasn't at the house when I got in from the airport. I also recall Sydney pulling me away from Miss Meadows to discuss a family matter."  He shifted uncomfortably in the bed.  "I'm sure she picked up her check today and handed in her resignation. That is the fifth nanny this year; a new record for Sydney." 

"The Calfo's seem very nice and they really like Sydney.  Why not leave her with them when you go out of town."

"I would hate to impose."

"I'm sure you could work something out."

He thought for a moment.  "I suppose," he conceded.  "A nice safe private boarding school would be better, but she knows it's what I want.  She can be very stubborn at times.  She is so much like you."

"I don't see that in her, Jack.  She is very much her father's daughter; her emotions run deep. She hides her feelings behind a wall of anger. You always liked to hide yours behind that granite mask.  "

"I do not do that."

"You most certainly do." She ran a hand through her hair.  "I say it with much love, but it is the truth. Like father, like daughter."

He let out a deep breath.  "I'm not a very good father to her, Laura. I try, but everything I do goes wrong."

"Why did you tell her you were in a skiing accident? You couldn't think of anything less sympathetic if you tried."

"She would ask too many questions. Dangerous questions. This way, no explanations are required."

"I see. You are protecting her because you love her.  It must be very hard to hurt her that way, knowing you can never tell her the truth.  Knowing that she will never truly know the sacrifices you made for her."  Irina swallowed back the tears. "She loves you, Jack.  I could see it in her eyes when she looked for you from the stage and later, as we waited for the paramedics. Deep down, she knows you love her, too."

"I wish I could be sure of that. What kind of father has to manipulate his daughter to get her to spend time with him?   Francie loves doing things with her father and Sydney is always so happy to go along with them."

"You're jealous of Francie's relationship with her father?"

"Not exactly. I just wish Sydney would be as willing to do things with me as she is with Francie and her father. She's going with me to the Mozart festival, but only because she's afraid I'll ask another woman."

"You were going to ask that…woman…out?"

"No. She looked like a two-bit whore. I'm not that desperate."  He tried to sit up, grimacing as a wave of pain kept him down. "I saw Sydney coming back and, well, she's always reacted that way whenever I've tried to date, so I used the situation to my advantage."

"You have dated other women?"  Irina couldn't keep the jealousy out of her voice.

"Correction.  I've tried to date other woman.  It has never worked out.  They weren't you.  Sydney was a handful, too.  You would have thought her a sickly child considering the number of ailments she would develop when I asked a woman out."

"Well, that's a good sign, Jack.  She's jealous of your attention."

"I wish that were true.  No, she's afraid that someone will try to supplant you. She idolizes you. You were the perfect mother."

"Well, I can't argue with the truth."

Jack gave her a pained grimace.  "I wonder how Sydney would feel if she knew she was really just another part of your job."

Irina reeled from the unexpected blow. "Don't you _ever_say such a thing again, Jack Bristow.  I love our daughter. More than you will ever know. I love you, too. Don't you ever forget that!  Remember that song you used to sing to me?"  Her voice shook with the strength of her anger. "Until the twelfth of never," she quoted.

"That was such a corny song, Laura, and too idealistic."

"Maybe, but I meant it.  Every word, Jack." 

"Hold me close, never let me go…" Jack sang softly. Irina brushed away the tears she couldn't hold back.

"…hold me close, melt my heart like April snow," she finished, her voice catching as she sang the words. "I'll love you 'til the bluebells forget to bloom. I'll love you 'til the clover has lost its perfume and I'll love you 'til the poets run out of rhyme. Until the twelfth of never and that's a long, long time."

Jack sighed, his hand reaching for hers.  "I like this dream. How many times have I longed to hear you sing that with me again? I can feel your hand in mine. The smell of your perfume, it's so real I almost believe I'm not hallucinating."  He brought her hand to his lips, lightly kissing her fingertips.  "I love you so much. I should hate you for what you did. I _want_to hate you for what you did, but every time I try, all I can see is the way you would look at me when I came home from a long trip.  Your eyes would tell me that you loved me; that you needed me.  I want so much for that to be the truth.  The real truth, Laura."

Irina leaned in to kiss him, her lips brushing against his neck before moving along his jaw until, feather light, she captured his lips in hers.  "That is the real truth, Jack.  I still need you.  Every night I dream of you, pretending you are holding me tight in your arms.  I hate the morning sun, because every time I wake up to it you are gone."

"I have the same dream, Laura, every damn night for the past ten years. Nothing I did would make it go away.  God, I'm pathetic."

"I guess we both are."  She placed more kisses along his face, her hand still folded in his.

"I want you, Laura." He motioned to his groin and she could see the evidence of his desire, undimmed by the pain medication. "I need to feel your body around mine. I need to feel you touching me."

"I…"

"Please?" he begged.  Her hand reached for him, but he pushed it away.  "Not with your hand.  I can do that anytime.  I need to be inside you."

"Jack, you're injured."

His eyes pleaded with hers.  "Very well.  Let me lock the door.  I'm pretty sure this isn't on your doctors approved list of activities."

"I'm sure that whatever the hell this medication is doing to my mind isn't on his approved list, either, but I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts." He watched as she stripped out of her skirt and panties.  "I would love to help, but my body seems to be glued to this bed."

"That's okay, darling.  Let me take care of you."  Irina turned off the heart monitor before pulling down the sheets.  It wouldn't do to have an increased heart rate draw the attention of the late night medical staff. She sighed happily as the discarded sheet revealed his desire. "Looks like big boy is ready to go." 

"Wait.  What about you?"

"I've been ready all evening, sweetie."  She climbed on the bed and slowly lowered herself on to him, squeezing her inner muscles around him.  "That feels so good." 

"You have to do more than that, Laura."  Jack made a weak attempt to thrust up against her.  "My legs feel like they are made of lead."

She began a slow undulation, her body pressed against his, careful not to put too much pressure on his ribcage.  Jack moaned softly, his hands tightly gripping hers. "Faster, baby, faster.  Ohmygod. It's been too long. I don't think I can hold back."

She rocked her body, enjoying the feel of his skin against hers.  Her lips rained kisses upon his body, drinking in the scent of him.  His hands reached for her, pulling her closer. 

Jack moaned, muttering incoherent words of love.  She felt the tension building in her own body as Jack strained against his own release.  "Let go, Jack, let go. I'm almost there with you."  She felt the warmth of his semen flood through her and soon found her own release.  As her breathing slowed, she relaxed above him, her hands still clasped in his.  "You're going to regret this in a few hours."

"I don't think I can ever regret making love to you."  His eyes closed and within moments a soft snore told her he was asleep. 

Reluctantly she moved from him and cleaned up the evidence of their activities.  "So much for not doing anything foolish," she whispered to herself. With a final kiss, she turned the heart monitor back on and left the room. 


	4. Conversations

"Mr. Bristow, I'm glad you could make it in. You gave us quite a scare at the holiday concert last month."  Alyssia Meadows took his hand in hers, her thumb brushing softly against his knuckles.  "I see you looking so much better.  Sydney tells me you cancelled several business trips while you were recovering.  I'm sure she was happy to have you home for the holidays for a change."

"Thank you."  Jack gave her his most charming smile. "I will remember to be more careful the next time I ski."

"Do you ski often? I was thinking of going over President's day weekend."

Jack ignored the hint. "No, I really don't care for it. One of my clients insisted. Next time, I'll schedule the meetings at the beach." He forced another smile and smoothly changed the subject.    "You wanted to discuss Sydney's academics?"

"Yes, of course.  She's quite talented musically and I had hopes of getting her in to Juilliard.  They have a wonderful pre-college course.  I gave Sydney an application, but she told me she isn't interested.  She wants to be a teacher."

"Yes, that has been her goal for some time."

"I hate to see such talent wasted on a teaching degree."

"Miss Meadows, …"

"Oh, do please call me Alyssia."  She smiled brightly at him.  "Miss Meadows is so formal"

"Alyssia…my daughter isn't interested in becoming a world class pianist and I have no intention of forcing her into a career she would come to hate."

"Oh, I understood from Sydney that you wanted her to transfer a private school. Since she told me you are a serious music lover, I assumed you would want your daughter to further explore her talents.  This seemed like the perfect solution for both of you."

Jack stood, his features devoid of expression.  "My daughter wants to be a teacher, like her mother. While I do wish Sydney would consider a private education, I will not push her to attend a school that specializes in a career she is clearly not interested in pursuing.  Do not continue in your effort to convince her to attend Juilliard or I will visit your principal and ask that you be removed as her advisor. Also, you may help Sydney apply for the college of her choice, with one exception.  She will not attend UCLA. If any paperwork arrives for Sydney from that school you are to shred it immediately. Are we clear?"

Alyssia Meadows nodded, her lips tightening in anger.  "I assure you Mr. Bristow, that I only want what is best for my students.  Since you weren't taking much of an interest…"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sydney told me you are often away and you have no interest in what she does.  You may not have noticed, but she is quite a talented pianist. Since you are not willing to guide her appropriately, I feel it is my duty to see that…"

Jack banged a hand against her desk.  "Enough. You have no knowledge of the depth of my interest in Sydney's activities. It isn't your place to judge. You will not interfere, or you will suffer the consequences of your decision."  He smiled coldly, noting the look of fear his words evoked.  "Good day, Miss Meadows."

Jack strode out of the room, the quickness of his step the only indication of his anger. 

~*~

Irina smiled smugly to herself, placing the headphones back into the box.  The bug she had planted in the counselor's office after the concert finally paid off. Jack had been quite angry when he left Miss Meadows office. His menacing threat came through loud and clear. 

"Served the hussy right," she told herself happily. Picking up the saltine cracker from the plate on her desk, she bit into it with relish, glad that Jack had so effectively dispatched the advisor.

"Prison rations, Irina?"  Sergei leaned against the door to her office. 

She jumped at the unexpected intrusion.  "It's good to see you again, too, Sergei."  She waved him in, ignoring the insistent roiling in her belly.  "I may have a touch of the flu.  The crackers help settle my stomach."

"The flu, Ira?" He walked to the desk, sinking into one of the leather chairs opposite her.  "You promised not to do anything foolish."

"I don't know what you are talking about, Sergei. What is so foolish about getting the flu?"  

"Hmmm.  And what are going to tell me eight months from now, when the flu is born?"

Irina stared at her associate. "How did you find out?  I was very careful."  

"You were, Ira, you were.  But I know you too well."  He grinned at her.  "When you returned from your trip last month, you were far too happy and relaxed.  You had the look of a woman who had been with the man she loves and I know it can't be me."  He picked up the teapot from the sterling silver caddy on her desk and poured out a cup of hot tea. "So, he knows you are alive?" he asked casually.

"No."

Sergei frowned.  "No? You made love with the man."

"You know how injured he was, Sergei. He is a strong man, but everyone has a limit for pain.  He passed out at the concert.  I stayed with him at the hospital."  She pushed a stray hair behind her ear. "He thought he was hallucinating," she confessed reluctantly..

"Then he doesn't know.  How will you tell him about the baby?"

"I won't," she told him firmly.

"But, Ira, it is his child, too."

"He has Sydney." Irina gripped the arms of her chair as a wave of nausea overcame her. She grabbed another cracker and washed it down with several long swallows of hot tea.

Sergei moved to the other side of the desk, picking up the waste paper basket and placing it next to her. "Yes, he does.  He deserves to know, Ira."

Irina eyed the basket balefully, taking deep breaths to calm her churning stomach.  "I can't tell him, Seryoja.  He is happier knowing I am dead.  Alive, he will hate me. I don't want to see that hate in his eyes."

"It will be as you wish, Irina.  I think you are making a mistake.  This baby could be an opportunity for healing between you two."

"Or prison for me."

"You think he would have the mother of his children sent to jail?"

"I don't want him to have to make that choice. There is nothing I want more than to share my news with him. But sometimes the cost of happiness is too great and sacrifices have to be made. I love him too much to have him pay for my folly."  She raised a hand, indicating she was through with the discussion.  "What of the other matter, my friend?"

"Miss Meadows?  She should be handing in her resignation any moment now."

"You're men.  They are … discreet?"

"The woman will clearly know the consequences should she … talk."

"Good."  She shoved her chair from the desk, nodding dismissively.  "Don't worry so, Sergei.  Trust me. Jack is better off not knowing."

"Perhaps.  After the baby is born, I hope you will reconsider."

"I won't."


	5. The Package

"Dad? You have a package. The UPS man just delivered it." Sydney carried the flat box into the kitchen and looked it over curiously.  No return address was listed.  "And my paperwork for college came yesterday.  My advisor helped me fill everything out.  I just need you to sign it." 

"Your advisor?" Jack put away the last pieces of silverware from the dishwasher, making sure the spots were wiped from the knives, before beginning on the glasses. "Oh yes, Mrs. Hawkins.  I met her last year."

"Yeah, she took over after you got Miss Meadows fired." Sydney leaned against the doorframe. "I thought that dishwasher soap was supposed to keep the dishes from getting spots?"

"I believe the ad claims a 99% effectiveness." Jack held up one of the glasses to the window, allowing the afternoon light to shine through it. "They may need to go back and re-visit their data." He picked up another glass, carefully wiping it before deeming it ready for the cupboard.  "As to your Miss Meadows, I did not have her fired.  According to your Principal, she quit."  

"Right after your meeting with her.  She made a pass at you, didn't she?  Everyone at school said she had the hots for you."

"Sydney, what have I told you about using slang?" Jack reproved.

"I'm only telling you what everyone said. Dag, Dad."

"Dag is not a word and I can assure you that Miss Meadows was not interested in me." Jack finished putting away the last glass and placed the dishtowel back on its peg under the sink.

"Right, Dad," Sydney scoffed.  "She was single and you're a rich widower.  There's no ex-wife to get in the way and you only have one liability; a teenager daughter who could easily be shipped off to a private boarding school."

"Easily?" Jack snorted, leaning casually against the counter, a small smile crinkled at the corners if his mouth.

"Well, she wasn't to know that, now was she?"

"Sydney, whatever Miss Meadows agenda, I would prefer you not gossiping about me with your friends.  We've discussed this before."

"I haven't been gossiping.  Francie told me what all the kids were saying, that's all.  It's not like you work for the CIA or anything. The way you go on, you'd think selling airplane parts was vital to our national security."

"Industrial espionage is not to be taken lightly.  It isn't a lot to ask that you be more discreet.  You may be only sharing with Francie, but Francie will tell Lisa, then Lisa tells her friend Susie, and so on and so forth." He passed a weary hand through his hair.  "Maybe leaving you with the Calfo's instead of hiring a new nanny wasn't such a good idea."

"That's not fair. Mrs. Calfo despises gossip. The neighbors are always asking her stuff and she tells them it's none of their business. Francie was only telling me what the other kids are saying; she wasn't participating in the gossip. Besides, you never talk about your work, so I'm sure I haven't passed on any important airplane parts information. Your secrets are safe."

"I also would prefer it if you didn't tell people when I am away on a business trip."

"Whatever. Maybe I should just have my tongue cut out?  Here, I need you to sign these so I can get them in before the deadline."

Jack frowned.  He started to admonish her again, but realized quickly that she was deliberately provoking him. Why was it he could tell within thirty seconds of an interrogation if the subject was being truthful and sense a trap before stepping into it, yet find it unusually difficult to avoid the verbal traps of his teenage daughter?  

He shook his head in frustration.  Sydney shoved the papers in front of him, her fingers rapping impatiently against the table. "Sydney, banging your fingers on the table is rude.  Please stop." 

"I just was wondering if you planned on signing the papers sometime today." 

He pulled out a pen from his jacket pocket and signed. Too late, he realized their conversation and the finger tapping was an elaborate ruse to distract him.  He looked at the letterhead on the admission paper and groaned silently.  Grown men had tried to out think him, men who were highly skilled in logic and game theory. They usually failed. How shocked would they be to know he had just been hoodwinked by a seventeen year old?  

Sydney's choice of the university had been a bone of contention between them from the moment she mentioned going to college.   Laura was a literature professor at UCLA before her death and Sydney saw the school as the romantic embodiment of her mother.  Attending the university would allow her to walk the same steps; possibly sit in the same classrooms as her mother.  

Originally he worried she might choose Georgetown, his alma mater and the place where he and Laura courted.  He shuddered at the thought of ever going back there, even to visit his daughter.  Every special place would be a reminder of the lie Laura had perpetrated.  There were nights when he would lose sleep thinking about it, but he need not have been concerned.  Georgetown was symbolic of _both_ her parents. UCLA had been Laura's sole domain. It was the connection with her mother Sydney sought, not her father.

Now his daughter was in full possession of legally signed contracts for a college he hoped he would never have to see again. He had no choice now but to let her attend UCLA. Sydney knew once he signed, he wouldn't renege.  She had done a masterful job of misdirecting his attention. His daughter had the makings of a first class agent, he thought with pride. 

Seeing Sydney's smirk of satisfaction as she folded the papers into a large manila envelope, he decided it was better not to acknowledge her victory. "As for Miss Meadows," he continued, referring back to their earlier conversation. "I merely informed her you would not be attending Juilliard.  I have no idea why she chose to leave." Or why Sloane planted her at Sydney's high school in the first place, he mused to himself. The woman had vanished without a trace before he had a chance to make further inquiries.

"Right." Sydney rolled her eyes. "It was just a coincidence that she quit right after you had your meeting with the Principal. I'm sure the kids at school will buy that one." She frowned, her father's words sinking in. "You told her to quit bothering me about Juilliard?"  

"You said you weren't interested, remember?"

"Yes, but…" She stopped confused. "I thought you _wanted_ me to attend a private school.  Juilliard would have been the perfect solution for you."

"Are you planning a career as a concert pianist?"

"No!" she answered emphatically. 

"Then I see no logical reason in sending you to a school that would train you for a vocation you are not planning to pursue.  I considered it a waste of your time and my resources."

"Umm. Thank you. I think."  She flipped over the package she had carried in earlier, wondering who sent it.  Her father never received packages in the mail. "It doesn't say who it's from. Do you want me to open it?"

"No!  I'll do it." Carefully, he picked up the box and looked it over.  It light for its size, so he quickly ruled out the possibility of a pipe bomb.  He shook it gently, listening for any unusual sounds.  

"Geez, Dad.  Remind me to never send you a package. Who knew selling airplane parts could be so dangerous?"

"I'm just being careful, Sydney. The package is unmarked and I'm not expecting anything. There are people in my business who wouldn't mind ridding themselves of the competition."  

"Sure there are, Dad," Sydney jeered.  

"Stop rolling your eyes.  If you have an issue with my concern, then state your case.  Our office has received too many threats in the past couple of months for me not to take this seriously.  Since your school apparently teaches you nothing about recent history, you should be aware that several people have died in the past because they opened unmarked packages like this."

"That was a fanatic who had political issues. No one is targeting airplane salesmen."

"There have been other instances, where rivals have eliminated their competition through similar means.  Selling airplane parts pays our bills, including your future tuition at UCLA. I would prefer not to be their next victim."

"I guess the next thing you are going to say is how ungrateful and unappreciative I am and that there are plenty of starving children in India who would gladly take my place!"  

Jack frowned at her. "The thought has never crossed my mind. The two situations are not synonymous. I am not responsible for the children in India, starving or otherwise.  I am, however, responsible for you and an unmarked package should not be treated lightly.  If this were a bomb and …"

"Dad," Sydney interrupted.  "Would you quit being so literal and open the package already!"

Jack slid a fingernail along the edge of the tape, barely breaking the tape apart.  When it appeared the package was harmless, he pulled up the flaps and lifted out the contents.  There were several black and white photographs inside the box, all of a tiny baby with curly brown hair, each carefully inscribed with  "Baby Boy Bristow – three months".  

"Look Dad, your old baby pictures.  Someone must have found them in grandma's old stuff and returned them to you."

"I guess I missed them when I gave away all her things." Jack gathered the photographs before Sydney could examine them more closely.  Lack of training or not, his daughter was remarkably observant for a child her age.  

"Hey, aren't you going to let me see them?"

"Maybe later.  I have some work to do."

"Oh, of course.  Work.  Well, thank you for sharing a few moments from your busy schedule with me."  

"Someday when you are older, you will understand that sometimes you have to make difficult choices.  Sometimes sacrifices have to be made."

"Well, I'll go gather the wood, you bring the matches."

Jack shook his head.  "Don't be sarcastic, Sydney. I'm sure you must have homework needing your attention."  Picking up the box, he walked to his study. He shuffled through the pictures, placing them side-by-side on the desk. The last picture had a piece of paper taped to the back.  Frowning, he pulled off the tape and opened the note. It was short and to the point; the handwriting matching the inscription on the photos.  "She loves you."

Picking up one of the photographs, he examined it more closely. There was no denying the resemblance. He had a son. Somewhere. Baby Boy Bristow had inherited his hair and ears. The child was his, but who was the mother?

He hadn't had a sex partner in several years.  Sydney had put a damper on that. She was ten when he decided she needed a mother. Besides, he had grown tired of picking up lonely women at the local bars.  They had assuaged his physical desires, but he knew he needed something more.  Something he once thought he had.  

Finding available women proved surprisingly easy.  Finding one who didn't bore him within a few hours proved less so. He tried not to compare them with Laura. Whatever her other sins, no one could ever accuse her of being boring. Promising candidates usually fizzled somewhere between dinner and the dessert, if not sooner. It was always a relief when the dinners were interrupted with anxious phone calls from the sitter.  He should have stopped Sydney's manipulations, but his conscious wouldn't let him. She had saved him the trouble of making excuses and her emergencies were always more interesting and creative than his dates.

Since his foray into dating was unsuccessful and one night stands were no longer satisfying, he chose instead to relieve himself the old fashioned way.  In seven years, the closest he'd come to being with a woman was the night in the hospital after Sydney's concert and that had been a dream; a phantom hallucination brought on by pain and strong medicine. 

He went over to the stereo system and placed the needle on the old 45.  The familiar strains filled the room.  "…hold me close, never let me go.  Hold me close, melt my heart like April snow…" It had only been a dream. Hadn't it?

Fin


End file.
